Reunion
by Bad cactus
Summary: Buffy discovers that at least one person survived from Angel's final stand.
1. Reunion: Part I

Chapter I  
  
June 18 2004  
  
Buffy walked through the deep snow, her snowshoes clattering and scraping over ice and branches as she followed the track through the woods. The sound of her progress was muffled by the soft, freshly fallen snow, giving her an odd feeling of isolation and peace. The woods were lovely, dark and deep...  
  
She followed the trail as best she could. Someone had come this way recently, but the snowfall was gradually erasing the track. Would they find her in a few weeks, frozen solid? She had heard that hypothermia was a peaceful way to go. But the only thing that would find her would be the wolves. Or the rats. She pushed on.  
  
It was foolish to have wandered off alone like this. She took foolish risks. She was lucky though, and tough. And ambivalent about risking her life.  
  
The woods opened into a clearing. It took her a moment to notice three small huts a short distance away. This was where the trail led. She started walking toward the nearest hut, stopped as she noticed a dark form lying in the snow. It was a deer. She looked closer. It was dead, two fang marks in its throat. It was still warm. The snow melted on its fur as it lay there. The door to the hut opened, and a man walk out.  
  
He had long black hair, braided at the back. An Indian, apparently. She was at an Indian village or hunting camp. The man stopped abruptly as he saw her, shouted and seemed about to run back inside, then stopped. Two other men and a woman ran out to join him, knives drawn, one with an axe. They all stopped and stared at her for a moment, then relaxed. Evidently, they had been expecting someone else. Something else.  
  
She pulled back her hood, shook the snow out of her blond hair.  
  
"Hi. Sorry I scared you. I got lost in the woods, and I ended up here. Can you give me directions to get back to the highway? I can hitch a ride into town."  
  
They exchanged glances, seemed at a loss. Then another woman, an older woman who had been peering out from the doorway, walked out, scolded them and shooed them back inside. Then, she gestured for Buffy to come inside too. One of the men objected, but sullenly relented when she curtly told him ... something. They were speaking their own language. Buffy followed the woman into the hut.  
  
Inside, six people contemplated her. The old woman stepped outside and returned with the carcass of the deer. One of the men examined it gravely, then took it to the far side of the hut and began to skin the animal. Buffy looked away and shifted uncomfortably. The old woman offered her a seat and a cup of the bitter tea they were all drinking.  
  
"Umm ... I don't suppose anyone here speaks English?"  
  
Several of the men exchanged glances. They conferred briefly, then an older man spoke to her. He spoke in a slow, deliberate, and strangely quiet voice.  
  
"It is dangerous for you to be here. We are wondering why you came here, on this night."  
  
She felt a moment of dislocation. Dangerous. Everywhere she went, it was dangerous. Did she gravitate to danger, or did it follow her?  
  
"I was hiking through the hills. My GPS died, and it started snowing." She had wanted to be alone. Then she was alone. Lost. Now it was dangerous.  
  
"You can stay here tonight. Stay in this house. When it is safe to leave, we will take you back to the town."  
  
"There's something out there."  
  
"There is a storm out there. Snow and wind and cold. It is not safe."  
  
"Something killed the deer."  
  
"Drink your tea. There is a blanket here you can use. Try to sleep."  
  
When the other man had finished skinning and cutting up the deer, he washed his hands. The old woman placed the meat in a large pot and with three of the men, left the hut. Buffy was left alone with the old man and a woman in her early twenties, watching the old woman and the men through the window as they moved to the other hut.  
  
The old man offered Buffy the blanket and indicated a cot by the wall. She thanked him but began to lay out her sleeping bag on the cot. The old man nodded, wrapped himself in the blanket and sat in a chair facing the door. The woman went to another cot and lay down, clearly agitated.  
  
With the heat of the fire and the day's exertions in the cold weather, Buffy began to nod off. As she drifted to sleep, she heard the old man say, "This is a bad place. It is a place of death and suffering."  
  
-----------------  
  
Buffy slowly woke up. The hut was barely lit by the coals of the fire. It was still night time. She had a nagging feeling. In her bladder. She silently swung her legs out of the sleeping bag and began to lace up her boots. She was putting on her jacket, then stopped to listen. She could hear a low murmuring singing. She crept to the window. She was certain it was coming from the other hut. She paused to listen to it for a few minutes, then turned toward the door and almost screamed. The old man was standing directly in front of her.  
  
"It is not safe to go outside."  
  
"I won't go far. I'll be quick. But I have to take care of something, and it can't wait."  
  
The man gestured toward a pot on the far side of the room.  
  
"Ahh, thanks, but I think I'll just ..."  
  
Her voice died in her throat as, in the distance, a howl broke out. Not so far really. Close. In the woods. Not a wolf. Something far more ancient, something vicious and evil. The sound of rage, hunger, wickedness, gloating contempt filled the air.   
  
The singing from the other hut faltered. Stopped. The howl echoed through the woods, then faded into silence. After a moment, the wind picked up, rattling the windows, howling through the trees outside the hut. The woman whimpered. The old man sighed. Buffy turned to him.  
  
"It's coming here?"  
  
"I think it will wait for tomorrow, the dark of the moon. Tonight it wants to frighten us."  
  
Buffy walked over to the pot. Snow had begun to fall, a heavy snowfall driven by the winds of the storm.  
  
"Did it kill the deer?"  
  
"No."  
  
Buffy slept.  
  
----------------  
  
She woke up the next morning and the people had returned from the other hut. She packed her sleeping bag, offered to help the old woman make tea, was shooed away, sat on the cot. The old man was out. No one present responded to her good mornings or wanted to talk to her, but they gave her tea and a kind of porridge they were having for breakfast. She offered to share some of the sugar and items from the camp meals she had packed, but the old woman signaled her to put them away. She seemed offended, or maybe frightened.  
  
As she was putting the food away, she came across the notice. She'd printed it out at the internet cafe a few days ago and stuffed it in her pack.  
  
Sunnydale High School Reunion. Mark your calendars.  
  
Whose idea was that? Didn't everyone want to forget Sunnydale High, forget Sunnydale?  
  
She wanted to forget. Didn't she? Memories.  
  
How had they gotten her email address? Willow, maybe, or Dawn. A reunion. Go back to your old stomping grounds and reminisce about your long lost youth. Not at Sunnydale High, the old or the new. You were lucky if you survived. That's something worth remembering. Maybe it could be the theme of the reunion.  
  
It probably wasn't Willow. She spent her time on the astral plane now, not in cyberspace. When has she last seen Willow? Willow had slipped away. They had drifted apart. Life had pushed them in different directions. Cliches.  
  
Willow was a teacher and a healer now. A wise woman. Willow was with her own kind. Witches. She had found her place, and she was happy there. What happy memories of high school would bring Willow back to Sunnydale? Even without the evil, high school hadn't been fun for her.  
  
How many would show up? Would they remember the vampires, the demons, the deaths? Or would they talk about the football games, the friendships and the good old days as they showed off their baby pictures and talked about their life's accomplishments? Some of her old classmates were doctors, lawyers, important people. Others had gone on to college, found jobs, married, built a life for themselves, started a family. Ordinary accomplishments. Somehow, Buffy hadn't done any of those things.  
  
-----------------  
  
Presently, the old man returned, jogging her from her daydreaming. It was still snowing outside, and he entered with a great gust of icy wind and snow. She put the printout back in her pack.  
  
"We'll have to wait a little while until it calms down."  
  
The storm continued into the morning. Buffy paced, fidgeted, finally questioned the old man.  
  
"You know what that was last night."  
  
"Probably a wolf. Coyote, maybe."  
  
Buffy held his gaze. He wasn't being honest with her, but they both knew it.  
  
"The storm isn't going to let up, is it?"  
  
"It's a bad storm. I haven't seen one like this in a long time. There's no telling how long it will last."  
  
"Do you have a radio here? We could listen for the weather."  
  
"The storm won't last forever. You'll just have to talk with me for now."  
  
"Tell me a story, then."  
  
The old man looked at her for a long moment, then began.  
  
"My people have lived on this land from the time when the hills were young. We listened to the voice of the land and the trees, and we heeded the teachings of the spirits, and cared for and protected this place. When the white man came, the land suffered. Trees were cut, rivers were poisoned. This alone was a terrible blow, but even worse, my people lost something. Many no longer heard the voices of the spirits, or hearing them, they chose not to listen. And so evil spirits made their home here, and it became a place of fear and death. My people have fought for generations to reclaim this land from the white man and it is now ours. Now, we must heal it. This, we have started to do. We have returned to the old ways, though it is hard for some. That is why we do not bring radios here, or generators, and why we do not speak English here. It is ... bad luck."  
  
"But, you're speaking English to me now."  
  
"We cannot turn a guest away on a stormy winter night, and we cannot leave you in silence. It may be bad luck for me to talk to you in your own tongue, but I am an old man and I have lived a full life."  
  
"You think that speaking English is going to get you ... something bad is going to happen to you?."  
  
"Tonight, we will attempt to free our home from the grip of evil spirits. It is the worst time of all for bad luck."  
  
Buffy stared at him.  
  
"Do not concern yourself. You are our guest, and we will protect you."  
  
"I can stand up for myself."  
  
"I do not doubt your courage. Let us hope that it is not needed." 


	2. Reunion: Part II

Reunion Chapter II  
  
June 18, 2004  
  
By evening, the snow was still falling, though the wind was calming down. Men carefully inspected their weapons, weapons of stone and wood, the traditional weapons of their people.  
  
The old man talked with Buffy, as much to ease his own tension as to keep her from pacing.  
  
"We had forgotten how to hunt as we once did, and to fight evil with the weapons of our ancestors, but have relearned many of the old skills. We asked for help in striking against the evil spirits, and it has been given to us. Above all, we try to restore the old ways, for they are better weapons than guns for us. That is why we do not hunt in the days before great battles. We are at peace with the creatures of the forest, for we fight for them as well as for ourselves. But you have seen that we were given a gift, the flesh of the deer to strengthen us, but not the blood."  
  
"Whoever gave that to you has two big teeth and drinks blood. I'm not so sure it wasn't that thing last night that killed the deer."  
  
"If the deer had been killed by ... it would have been spread over half a square mile of forest. Our protector has helped us, but we do not know him. Still, we believe that he is not evil, and he has helped us so far. We shall see."  
  
"He? You don't know who this is?" The mystery of the deer was bothering her. She couldn't quite put her finger on ... "It's not ... one of the old spirits?"  
  
"None that we know. But we have forgotten much of what we once knew."  
  
The old man stood up and stared out the window.  
  
"The snow is letting up, but it is dark now. You cannot leave. I must prepare. Stay here and you will be safe."  
  
"I can fight."  
  
"Then take this." The old man tossed her a large axe.  
  
Buffy deftly caught the weapon, spun it about, tossed it from hand to hand, brandished it, threw it spinning into the air, caught it.  
  
The old man looked at her thoughtfully. Clearly, he had expected her to flinch and drop it.  
  
"This night is full of surprises. Forgive me if I have misjudged you, but my eyes are old and do not see as clearly as they once did." He spoke to her then in his own language, but quickly saw that she didn't understand. "Are you a spirit guardian, sent to help our people?"  
  
"It's a long story. I was sent to help ... another place. But my ... task was completed. Now..." Now, what? She was a free ranging do-gooder?  
  
She had been a prisoner to the Hellmouth, a puppet moving to the unseen strings that moved her along her destiny as a slayer. She had resisted the call, accepted it, resented it. Now the weight of that responsibility was lifted from her. She had her life. Almost. The strings had been cut, but somehow, she had been drawn here. Coincidence, for her to have arrived at this place, at this time? Hardly. And this wasn't the first time.  
  
"You saved that place?"  
  
"Well, kind of."  
  
"I must talk with the others." He excused himself and left the hut to join the others. He returned a short time later.  
  
"Soon, we will start to prepare to meet our enemy. When we do, we ask you to stay here and protect the homes and the women."  
  
"But..."  
  
"We do not doubt your courage or your strength, but this is our battle and we must fight it."  
  
"But..."  
  
"It is our way."  
  
"Well. Okay. I'll stay here. But can you at least tell me what you're fighting?"  
  
"We have never seen it, but we have fought its servants. Tonight, we will look our enemy in the face."  
  
He left then, and returned to the other shack. Buffy picked up the axe again, hefted it. Weapons training. She hadn't kept it up. Truth be told, she had slacked off. What happened to slayers when they got old? No one knew. It didn't happen. She stretched and began to prepare herself.  
  
----------------------  
  
Lunge. Strike. Block. Kick.  
  
Buffy was getting used to the axe, but she wished she had a sword.  
  
She thought of her earliest workouts under Giles' watchful eye. Giles. High school librarian. How many students would remember him at all? What up and coming literary figure had been inspired by a suggested reading? What rocket scientist had Giles helped in researching an old high school science project? Buffy didn't know.  
  
He'd spent so much of his time with her, preparing her. She hadn't made it easy on him. She had to admire the man. He had kept her in shape, kept her alive until ... It was hard on both of them when the time came for her to stand on her own.  
  
Giles had played his part in saving the world through her. Now that was all over. He was happier now, back in England, with his books and ... whatever it was he was up to. He wouldn't be at the reunion.  
  
----------------------  
  
The snow stopped falling and the sky cleared. The wind died. The men chanted in the other hut. It would not be long. Near midnight, they marched out. All the women gathered in the hut with Buffy, some sitting by the fire, others peering out the window. Buffy fought the urge to pace.  
  
The howling sounded again, far off. Angry, indignant. The men had stuck. Time passed.  
  
In the still night air, the far off sounds of shouting and fighting reached the cabin. Getting nearer.  
  
A group of men staggered into the clearing and stumbled toward the hut. They entered, wounded, bleeding, and the women tended their wounds.  
  
Buffy couldn't understand what they were saying, but it seemed as if they had accomplished something. The fight wasn't over, however, and it was getting closer.  
  
A couple of other figures burst into the clearing. Not men, but hideous, beastly creatures. some fell, stuck with arrows. More figures emerged, fighting. The beasts, minions of some demon, evidently, were driven back by the men and by ... among the men was someone else. Someone who looked like a man, but was stronger, tougher. Recognition hit Buffy.  
  
Then the howl started again, filled with hatred and malice. Its impact was staggering. And it was close. The cabin shook and groaned as an enormous clawed fist slammed through the back wall. Buffy helped the women and the wounded scramble out the door. They made it out as the cabin collapsed. And enormous demon advanced over the wreckage, roaring and stomping on the ruined roof before leaping to the ground and advancing on the small group. One of the wounded men threw a spear at it, but the creature batted it aside. Roaring, it charged.  
  
Buffy rolled, kicked out at its legs. The creature fell, recovered, fell again as she ducked beneath its claws, struck again breaking several of the creatures ribs. She moved in to strike it in the face, but fractionally too slow. The creature raked its claws across her side, tearing her coat and sending her flying. She rolled and recovered, noticing a pink stain on the snow. The demon had drawn first blood. Now, as it advanced again, a man charged with a spear, struck a sure blow, but was knocked flat by the enraged demon.  
  
Buffy picked up a log from the fallen cabin, swung it, struck the demon once, twice. Staggering, the demon charged again, knocked the log aside, pinned Buffy down with a massive paw and cocked its other arm for a final, fatal blow. A spear pierced its eye and it fell backward on the ground, roaring, whimpering, twitching, dying. It dissolved into a stinking goo that melted the snow. Its few surviving minions fled.  
  
Buffy stood up, stumbled, fell to one knee. She found it hard to breathe. Women rushed to support her and hustled her into one of the other cabins with the wounded. The old man was there, lying on a cot, gravely injured.  
  
He smiled weakly when he saw her. "The land will be healed now. But I will not live to see it."  
  
Buffy choked back tears and put on a brave face. "Hang in there. I don't want to be the one who ... brought you bad luck."  
  
"It was not your doing. And there are worse ways to die. It was good fortune that brought you here, and you have done my people a great service."  
  
Exhausted, the old man lay back. He didn't speak again. 


	3. Reunion: Part III

Reunion Chapter III  
  
June 18, 2004  
  
Buffy marched through the snow. They had given her one of their jackets to replace her torn one. Her GPS was working now. She was following tracks in the snow, a set of tracks that led away from the battle. Others were tracking down the scattered minions of the fallen demon.  
  
The tracks led to a cave entrance. Buffy entered silently, crept forward slowly.   
  
It was dark in the cave. She turned on her pen light. She wouldn't surprise him anyway. He'd seen her, certainly recognized her. He was the one who had thrown the spear. He knew she could never leave well enough alone.  
  
She entered the cave. A note was sitting on a ledge to her left. She picked it up. It said: "Do not say my name, or anyone else's, aloud in this place. Nod if you understand."  
  
She nodded. A voice from the shadows startled her.  
  
"No names."  
  
She shone her penlight at the dark silhouette, and there he was, a finger over his lips. He signaled her, turned and walked deeper into the cave.  
  
--------------------  
  
They went on for some time. The air was warmer here, below ground. That was why bats hibernated in caves. She suppressed the thought. The cave opened up into a wide chamber. Rocks had been moved for seating, and various boxes and items were loosely piled to the side. This was his home. He walked to the far end and turned around to face her.  
  
"No names. Not mine, especially not his, no one. Understand?"  
  
She looked at him questioningly. He continued.  
  
"If certain names are used, even in a whisper, they will be heard. Certain parties are listening awfully hard for any mention of ... well, certain unpopular individuals, especially by ...", he pointed at her, "former colleagues and acquaintances. You don't want them to turn their attention to you, believe me."  
  
She nodded indifferently.  
  
After a moment, he said, "You shouldn't have come here."  
  
"I... well, I was in the neighbourhood, you know, and ..."  
  
He didn't look happy. He fixed a hard look on her. Hostile?  
  
"We parted ways some time ago."  
  
His expression softened.  
  
"But, what the hell, it's good to see you again."  
  
She walked closer to him, so she could see his face clearly.  
  
"I thought you were dead."  
  
"I was." There it was, the beginning of that old Spike smirk.  
  
"You know what I mean." She punched him on the shoulder and gave him a stern look, but he wasn't fooled. She couldn't help smiling. It was good to see him, after all this time. She'd missed him, in her own way.  
  
He held his arms open to her, cocked an eyebrow. She rushed forward and they hugged.  
  
She recovered her composure, pushed him gently away. She had felt it in his hug and now the expression on his face confirmed it. He'd come to terms with the past they shared. They were friends now, just old friends who hadn't seen each other in a long time. The past ... well. Like her, he had moved on.  
  
He motioned for her to sit on a rock draped with an old carpet. She sat down. He leaned against a rock on the opposite side. He looked like a man who needed a smoke.  
  
"You come here looking for me?"  
  
"No, I just kind of stumbled onto the place."  
  
"This place has power. Nothing like the Hellmouth, but it's here, right enough. People avoid this place, or they used to. A lot of hunters and hikers die up here. Freak accidents, wild animal attacks, the weather ... I figured it'd be the perfect place to lay low for a few decades. Then, I kind of just got mixed up in ... well... I never could stay out of trouble."  
  
He stopped, stared straight at her. "Now you, on the other hand, you didn't just wander in here. The people here, they needed you. You're a slayer. You end up going where you're needed."  
  
"I was a slayer. I'm kind of semi-retired now." She sighed. "So I was needed and came here. What's your excuse?"  
  
"Me? I don't know. I'm not sure if ... I'm not sure if I'm really a part of the grand plan. Not like you. Or him. I'm just an extra pawn that ended up on the chessboard. Now we're on the same square."  
  
"You were a dark piece, now you're a light piece."  
  
Spike shrugged. "Still a pawn."  
  
He went over to a box and rummaged for a moment. He pulled out a can of beer and a can of coke, offered them to Buffy. She took the coke. Spike fished out another coke, and they both sipped at their cans for a couple of minutes.  
  
Buffy looked up at him again.  
  
"Spi..." Buffy caught herself, continued. "I heard things about him. Some people say he'd changed, at the end. That he'd become ... well ..."  
  
"Don't listen to that. It's what he wanted them to believe. He had a lot of people fooled. Even me, almost. He was fighting the good fight. Why do you think they came down hard on us?"  
  
"I heard he'd gotten in bed with some big names. Then he double crossed them, had them killed so he could take over. They said he sacrificed ... one of you, her, to get in with them. Even that he'd done away with the rest of his ... old friends at the end. I even heard that he was still alive, that he'd just gone underground to rebuild."  
  
She shivered, from the cold or ...  
  
Spike walked over and sat down beside her.  
  
"I knew him, love. In the old days, and at the end. Trust me on this. You don't need to worry."  
  
Buffy nodded.  
  
"Is he, you know ...?"  
  
Spike sighed. "I don't know. I haven't seen him since that night."  
  
"I flew in about a week after ... to pay my respects."  
  
Spike's look grew distant. She hadn't gone there for him, he knew.  
  
Buffy continued. "Nobody wanted to tell me anything. They just said he was dead, that no one could have survived the attack they threw against him."  
  
Spike's smile returned. "Yeah, well it was a hell of fight."  
  
"So how did you get away?"  
  
"Luck. Fate? I don't know. What we did wasn't anticipated, but the ... organization had contingency plans. When things went down, muscle was standing by. But see, the people who gave a lot of the important orders weren't around anymore. So the attack wasn't coordinated. Part of it was held back at the last minute for the eventual turf wars between the new leaders, the successors of the ones we'd taken down. See, even then, things were starting to unravel for them."  
  
He paused, remembering. "Still, just the four of us, them all coming for us. We knew there was no hope. They didn't need to be organized. We tried to stay together, give them something to remember us by ... Just the four of us. Then three. Hell of a fight. But you see, he ... he'd chosen that spot for a reason. I didn't know it at the time. He'd put a lot of planning into this, had a few surprises for them. Did some damage, bought us some time. But it only made them bring out the big guns."  
  
"Anyway, we took it down to the sewers. He went back for ... for her. Came back without her. He's almost reached me, them snapping at his heels, when he knocks down a support and the roof falls in. Then there was a fire. Don't know if that was planned. I managed to crawl down a pipe into the sewer system. I made it out. Don't know about him. If he made it, he'll be laying low."  
  
He finished his coke, crushed the can in his fingers.  
  
"Just like I'm supposed to, not carrying on the fight here. Got to save it for the future. It'll take decades, maybe centuries for the ... for them to put together an operation like that again. Trust and communication. That was the key. Hard enough to get that between two people."  
  
Spike looked away from Buffy, threw the can against the far wall. It bounced a couple of times, then the cave was silent. After a moment, turned back to her and continued.  
  
"For the big bads ... well, it's even harder. It takes patience. And time." He smiled wryly. "Evil is patient. Sooner or later, they'll put it together again. I'll be there when they do. If I don't get killed doing sonething stupid first."  
  
Buffy looked pensive. "I won't be there. I'm already getting ... well, I'm not ... I'm not going to live forever."  
  
Spike looked away again.  
  
"Long life isn't all it's cracked up to be. There's a price you pay, you know."  
  
He paused, then continued.  
  
"You've done your part. Sometimes your fight's over and it's time to ..."  
  
Buffy interrupted. "Look ... I know. I know."  
  
After a moment, Spike nodded.. "I'll be leaving soon. You'd better get far away too. Certain elements are on the lookout for heros these days. Events are investigated."  
  
He turned to her.  
  
"Watch your step for the next little while. And try to stay out of trouble."  
  
Buffy shrugged and looked innocent.  
  
"Well, you know me."  
  
"Yeah, I do." 


End file.
